


make me sweat

by Siera_Writes



Category: Blur
Genre: D/s elements, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 17:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siera_Writes/pseuds/Siera_Writes
Summary: He steps closer, almost worried that the moment will break, that Damon will peel himself from his deliberate sprawl against the wall, clap him on the shoulder, and leave. He doesn't. Their breaths are hushed. He feels himself relax, inch by inch, stance shifting to one leg.





	make me sweat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [essexgrl68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/essexgrl68/gifts).



> Just a little something I threw together in a couple of hours. This is utter filth. Blame Pat - they're my enabler as of late, it seems. Hope you enjoy :P
> 
> If you don't know what this is inspired by - and refers to - there's a 1996 interview between Damon and Chris Evans in which Damon flirts really unsublty and Evans flusters. Go watch it.
> 
> Unbetaed.

Chris is almost unsurprised to see Damon leaning with his back against the wall just before the exit: waiting. In the dark of the corridor, he's a silhouette lit from behind, head tilted to the floor, one leg crossed in front of the other. He looks smaller, like that, slouching and disreputable, arms tucked behind his back, pushing his chest out, his trim figure enunciated by how his stomach curves in. His fringe falls in spikes, and his profile looks regal.

Chris falters in his step, then forces himself to keep walking. A thrill passes through him, a feeling of daring, of risk. No, he's not surprised, but he wonders if it's a continuation of a power play. Damon held all the cards during the interview, right until the very end, where he acquiesced, with almost blissful simplicity. The thirty yard walk has never seemed so excruciating. Each step - muted as they are - is audible.

Damon's smirking - he can tell, just from the minute shift of his head, sideways, still looking at the floor. Chris can't tell who's chasing who. His paces slow as he approaches, moving slightly across the space, so he sees the man from an angle. Damon's a study in lighting, his left cast in saturated colours from the urban illumination outside, his right thrown into deep shade, shadows smudging under cheekbones and eyes.

He steps closer, almost worried that the moment will break, that Damon will peel himself from his deliberate sprawl, clap him on the shoulder, and leave. He doesn't. Their breaths are hushed. He feels himself relax, inch by inch, stance shifting to one leg.

Then Damon does look up, fringe obstructive over his forehead, the tips brushing over his dark brows and into his eyes. His eyes. Even with a metre between them, Chris can feel the inscrutable power of his gaze. So blue, saturated in the sodium light. He pulls himself off the wall almost lazily, releasing his limbs from behind him to stand, still slumping before him, affecting a smile which almost lulls Chris into thinking there's no pretence here.

Oh but there is - the slight edge of devilishness to his grin tells him enough, as do the roaming eyes; they're scouring him up and down. He shifts in discomfort in the casual clothes he changed into. Really, he's been half-hard all evening since their interview, and the staring's already getting to him. He swallows, wincing at how loud it is. If anything, Damon's smile gets wider.

Damon takes one step forward. Chris hastily backs away, teeth showing nervously. Damon painstakingly crowds him backwards, using the full force of sullen rakishness. Really, he could've broken away at any moment, still can. But he wants this a lot: want's to see who's really in control. He thinks he can reverse this, much like he did during their interview. Get him to submit.

He licks his lips, scrabbling for words. "Where's the rest of your band?"

Damon just keeps going, until Chris is almost mirroring Damon's pose, only his back's flat against the wall, as are his palms, head tilted back slightly, so the edge of his glasses bisect Damon, face entirely clear, the rest of him and their environment blurred, a fitting myopia.

Even with their discrepancy in height, even with his slim frame, Damon is somehow imposing, seeming to fill more space than he ought. He stops, with barely a foot between them. Their heat mingles, the air between them stifling. Damon grins, almost lascivious, chuckles throatily. "They're back at the hotel." That voice. It's unbecoming, pitch too low for someone so fey in appearance. The mix of perceived femininity and maleness cuts the air to his lungs, not for the first time.

Damon gets right into his space, head tilting to the side, eyes burning into Chris'. "What do you want me to do?" Sotto-voce, like velvet against the skin of his jaw, and hot. Chris shivers, desire a frisson up his spine. Damon's hand hovers in front of his fly; he can feel a light pressure, and gasps.

Chris throws hurried glances to either side - it's late, very few people left in the building at all, but getting caught could mean the end of his career easily. Upon refocusing on Damon, he's taken by the dilation of his eyes; he can see both clearly with how Damon's vacillating between looking at him and down at his trousers, glassily staring up at him, with lips parted and eyes wide, slight flush high on his cheeks, making his cock twitch in his jeans. That wanton look decides it.

He speaks, hating and loving the smugness in Damon's eyes as he hears it. "Get on your knees." Damon sinks easily, even desperately, like he was barely holding himself back beforehand, their eyes still locked. His hands stroke down Chris' sides as he does so, drifting smoothly over the fronts of his thighs. Damon paws at the button and zip of his jeans, then roughly pulls down his underwear as far as he can, making Chris hiss.

Damon wastes no time in taking Chris' cock into his mouth; Chris tips his head back and moans at the wet heat, shivers when Damon flicks his tongue. The man closes his left hand around the base, fingertips slightly roughened by playing guitar, and begins moving in counterpoint, a blend of sensation expertly tailored to leave Chris wrecked and collapsing into himself and the wall, scrabbling with blunt nails at the smooth paint. He's far too close, far too soon, and just the sheer knowledge that Damon's had practise in order to be this good carries him closer to the edge, images a lurid cascade.

Was it with Graham? He can see Damon at the feet of the guitarist, his usually doe-soft eyes stern and dark, fingers tight through dirty blond hair. Or maybe Alex, louche and urbane, pretty in a sharp way. God, what a coupling.

He realises his own fingers have subconsciously found their way to Damon's head, fingers twining through his hair. He looks down, sees that Damon's looking up at him, still, all obscene imagery: lips rosy and glistening with saliva, eyes almost wholly black. He feels Damon smile, start stroking more roughly with his hand, pressing up with the flat of his tongue, and it finally is too much; he comes, groaning, eyes squeezed shut as though pained, a rush of nervous energy leaving him, replaced by level ecstasy.

Panting, he looks back down at Damon - Damon who's swallowed, licked his lips, satisfied, but looks barely sated. He tucks Chris' cock back into his underwear, pulls his jeans into place, and does them up, still holding his gaze. Damon stands fluidly, far too close, irises barely visible, blinking a couple of times, but looking so self-satisfied.

There's a pause of a couple of seconds, and Chris feels on the back foot again. Damon's hair is dishevelled, and he looks altogether debauched. He brings his left hand up to cradle the base of Chris' head, then leans in to plant a kiss, heavy and demanding. He can taste himself on Damon's tongue, domineering. He's pressed back into the wall, can feel the press of Damon's own cock against his thigh, shudders as Damon makes a low noise at it through their kiss.

But then it's broken; Damon pulls back, the excess of warmth leaving with him, abandoning Chris with just the wall for support. He's shaken and surprised and suddenly exhausted. He can only watch as Damon stalks away, throwing a toothy smile back over his shoulder. The cold wash of air from outside makes him shiver. He gave Damon exactly what he wanted.


End file.
